“Good afternoon, William. I have to say, you’re the spitting image of your father.”
“You knew my father?”
“Quite well actually. Back in the old days before the Bay of Pigs. And some after. He patched me up, sent me home.”
“Are you the man he wanted me to talk to when I first joined the agency?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, William. A very long time.”
“You handled Collins.”
“While he could be handled, I did. Then he derailed, and I couldn’t control him anymore. He was the spitting image of his father too. Self-destructive.”
“You knew John Collins from his work with Operation Zapata?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“I have to know, what made you do this? You’re an American. What made you turn on your country?”
“See now, you’re talking like a damn patriot. A Company Man. I’ll have to bleed that out of you somehow.”
“It’s a reasonable question.”
The man chuckled. “I suppose it is. What made me turn on my country? The short answer is: the same thing that will make you turn on yours. In essence, my country turned on me. Left me there to die with the others betrayed on Playa Giron. Second and third degree burns on my back and legs. Once I finally made it back home, it made me sick to hear the whole country idolize Kennedy. He let his intelligence officers and the Cuban rebels dive into a secret war. Then he washed his hands of them all. Pulled back all the air support. We called and called until we could call no more, and no help came.
“Then, after it all blew to hell, the CIA shoved aside the officers involved, tossed them out like bad apples. Bill Collins knew all about that. His father lost his career, lost everything, tried to drown his misery in a bottle—but the bottle drowned him instead. Well, I wasn’t going down that road. My career at the CIA was over.” He beamed a smile over his newspaper. “So I re-invented myself. Made a new career, a new life—one where I was well-paid for a change.”
“I understand, I guess. A little bit. The CIA shunned me after Prague, and my career was dead in the water after that. Just took me a while to see it. I don’t want to end up like Collins, either one of them.”
“John Collins had an unstable streak. Unfortunately, he passed that instability down to his son. Young Bill could have just taken the KGB’s money and run, but the money wasn’t enough after a while. He wanted respect or some such nonsense. Then he developed that obsession with the East German girl. A man who can’t be controlled by money—well, he can’t be controlled at all. He drives his own boat, so to speak, for good or for ill.”
“My father didn’t fit that mold.”
“No. George Darcy was a man of substance. He didn’t let the Bay of Pigs ruin him or his shipping business. He had the financial means and the psychological fortitude to weather the storm. He even helped a few of us out along the way. Helped me ‘re-enter civilian life’ better than any VA man because he helped me set up my own business.”
“Did he know what your ‘business’ was?”
“I think he was smart enough to figure out what was under the surface. And then he was smart enough to turn a blind eye. We avoided each other for the most part.”
“Until I joined the agency.”
“The man was tough until he found that by-blow daughter of his. Then he crumbled like a stale cookie. He came blubbering to me—after years without a word from him—to ask me for my help.”
“You owed him. He brought you home.”
“No.” The old man’s voice sharpened. “He owed me. I almost died getting his cargo to Cuba. It’s not my fault it never reached its destination.”
“You used my father—or tried to.”
“I did. But no more than I’ve used many others over the years. You’ve done the same. We use people all the time. Use them up and spit them out.”
They were silent for a minute. Finally, the older man went on.
“Just so we’re clear, you and I. I know that Collins is gone. Most likely he’s dead. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that chances are better than even that this overture of yours is a trap. That you are less than sincere, shall we say, in your offer.”
“I told you: Collins gave you up. I thought you might be my father’s former contact, so I searched Collins’s place first before the FBI got there. That’s how I found the drop location.”
“How did you know about the search?”
“I have…a contact. She said…”
“She?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Interesting.”
“If you think this is a trap, why are you here talking to me?”
The older man shrugged. “It’s worth the risk. You’re the coup de grace, young man. The finishing touch on an almost twenty-year run. I’m an old man. I’ve served my handlers and my own interests well. And I’m willing to take the chance that you are a bona fide asset. I know I haven’t been successful so far, but who knows? Perhaps the third time’s the charm. What you could do for the KGB is astounding. So, are you interested at all in what they can offer you?”
“I suppose that depends on what they can offer me.”
“Money?”
“I don’t need money, but I would take money—as a symbol of their respect. How much respect could I command?”
“You cough up the names of CIA assets overseas? You could command a lot.”
“In cash, correct? I don’t want to leave a paper trail.”
“Definitely. We’ll set up some procedures and a new drop location at our next meeting. I’m too old to sit on these infernal park benches for long.”
“Suit yourself. You’re the boss.”
“I like you, William. I always have.”
“Since all of ten minutes ago?”
The man chuckled. “We’ve met before perhaps. You’re not the only one who’s a master of disguise.”
“What should I call you?”
“How about—Pops?” He stood and stretched, his hands on his lower back. “Check our current drop in a month for instructions.”
He ambled slowly up the path, a slight limp in his step.
Darcy sat for several minutes, staring without seeing at the trees and flowers, certain that this would be his last CIA mission.
He was going to despise it.
Chapter 35
February 1984
The Park Coffee Shop, Washington, DC
“Table for one?”
“You think?”
“Don’t get smart with me, young man. It isn’t in your best interests, and I’m not particularly happy with you right now.”
Darcy followed the older man to a table in the corner.
“Cuppa joe?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll bring it right out.”
Darcy shuffled in his seat, staring out at the cold sunlit winter morning.
“Here you go. Milk, no sugar, right?”
He nodded.
“I brought two cups. It’s early, and the cafe is empty, so I thought I’d join you.” The blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Sorry to get you out of a warm bed.”
“And out of the warm woman in it?”
Amusement turned icy cold. “I think that remark is a bit inappropriate.”
“Not sure why you’d care about the remark…or the woman.”
“I do care about her after a fashion. She’s yours, after all, and I look out for my assets. I did have to deal with that business with Collins. He sure went after her when his back was up against the wall.”
“And you had no responsibility in that?”
“I helped make the monster perhaps, but I couldn’t let him harm her. It was a real dilemma for me
.” The old man shook his head.
“The universe plays cruel tricks on everyone.”
“So it does, you included. Thank goodness, you took care of my problem for me. I feel guilty about that, but I’ll get over it—and probably sooner than I should. But moving forward.”
“What do you want now?”
“I’m becoming impatient. Your intel has been lackluster so far. My comrades at the Soviet Embassy say they’re having trouble verifying the information you gave me at our last meeting. It’s time to cough up some assets, William. I think we now have…shall we say…the proper motivation to convince you.”
“I’m still not sure about this. It’s a big step, giving up real people instead of information. What happens if I say no?”
“You won’t want to do that. You have…so much more to lose now. Your career or maybe even your life is at stake. No longer something you can throw away. Think of your new wife and your unborn child.”
“How do you know about Elizabeth’s pregnancy?”
“I keep my eye on her.”
Darcy tried his best to bluff. “I could leave her in half a second and never look back.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Oh, I think I do. I received an interesting letter several months ago. As the letter principally concerned yourself, perhaps you deserve to know its contents.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” The older man pulled out a letter and peered down his nose at it. “You’ll be shocked to know the source of my information. This letter is from the late, great Comrade Collins.”
“Your golden boy.”
“At least until he panicked after your sister was rescued from Czechoslovakia. Who knew that his attendance at an unimportant dissident’s meeting in Prague would have such far-reaching effects—for all of us? After that, he went down a road the KGB couldn’t navigate for him anymore. He went rogue, as they say. So then, he simply had to go away. But that’s a story you already know. Interestingly enough, he was the one who provided the means of your downfall—with this letter.” The older man waved the paper in the air.
Darcy cast a surreptitious look around the cafe.
“Don’t worry, son. No one’s watching or listening in. We’re not even open for business yet, but I think we’re about to be, you and I.” The warm, engaging smile was familiar enough to send a shiver down Darcy’s back.
Mr. Baker opened an old, creased envelope. “Would you like me to read it? The decoded version of course. So you know the entire story?”
“Suit yourself. You’re the boss.”
“Comrade:
I offer congratulations on the capture and execution of the traitor known to the CIA as Top Coat. I know that my source was invaluable in the success of that mission, and she has assured me of her continued support, even though she is currently working undercover in East Berlin.
“He goes on to talk up his own meager contributions to that op, but I won’t sport with your impatience by reading the rest of that obsequious drivel. Collins always put way too much unnecessary information in his communiqués. Now, here is the part that pertains to you:
“I have news that may interest you. I know in the past, you expressed some interest in another possible recruit inside the CIA. In accordance with your plan, a team of officers is now investigating this man. The lead on that assignment is GW, but he’s being assisted by EB, who is undercover. (GW has real possibilities for us. He has the weaknesses we can capitalize upon, particularly financial obligations he can’t fulfill. He’s impulsive; however, that may end up being a fatal flaw.)”
The older man stopped, took a sip of his coffee. “You know, most people saw Collins as a numb-nuts, but he could ferret out a man’s weaknesses in the blink of an eye. Had a real talent for it. Maybe because he was such as weak man himself.”
“Still not sure what any of this has to do with me.”
“Have patience, my young friend, I’m getting to it…
“Your interest in the London Fog has always baffled me because I projected he would be a difficult nut to crack and not worth the effort. But recent observations in Budapest, East Berlin, and here at Langley have led me to believe that, although money won’t work on him because he has no need of it, something else—or rather someone else—will. He’s developed a tendre for another agent, this EB—his interpreter from Budapest, a woman whose assignment dictated she follow him to East Berlin. He tries to hide the attraction, and the woman herself seems oblivious, but it’s apparent to anyone with trained observational skills that he’s obsessed with her. I believe I can manipulate GW into sending her into his arms, as it were, while he’s in the agency’s bizarre exile down in the Caribbean. It’s perfect—he’s been ostracized, separated from his powerful friends like CB, and appears to have lost his lady to the demands of her career. She’s certainly been hard at work and a little too close for my comfort since her return from East Germany.
“Imagine my shock when I learned that this young woman and the field officer investigating you were the very same person!
“It was only later after he disposed of Wickham that I realized Collins was out of control and his days were numbered. His panic-based decision-making on a Tobago beach sealed his fate. He was a lost cause, but perhaps he served his purpose with this nugget of information. It gave way to a previously unknown path leading to you. A viable honey trap! Impoverished Americans think with their wallets, but the wealthy ones? They always think with their libidos. I just had the wrong honey. I had tried to get to you before with poor Anneliese and failed.
“But let’s go on, shall we?
“My reason for cautioning you is this: this young woman has no obvious weaknesses we can capitalize on. Her life up to this point has been her job. If she were smart, she would jump at this chance; the London Fog is rich and powerful—and could boost her career immeasurably—but I’m not sure she has either the sagacity or cynicism to see it that way.
“Personally, I think he underestimated her. Of course, he had no idea that I had another connection to Elizabeth.” The older man smiled brilliantly. “But you know, don’t you?”
“I suspected, based on a discussion she and I had once.”
“So you kept your ear to the ground and went into the agency archives.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very smart. You are a very smart man, Darcy. Like your father.”
“I should have turned you both in when he approached me about you.”
“Perhaps you should have, given the way things have turned out. Why didn’t you?”
“I never thought it would matter. I never understood the hook you had in him. Then he was gone, and it seemed to be over.”
“Until you found out about Jirina. Yes, he wanted my help to get her out. The diplomatic channels were deteriorating, and he thought he was running out of time. He was—just not in the way he anticipated. His little daughter trapped in limbo, and him unable to help or guide her. No wonder he came to me for help. Although we had parted ways years before, he knew I would…empathize with his predicament.”
Darcy laughed. “There’s not a drop of empathy in you, you cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch.”
“You misjudge me, my son. May I call you ‘my son’? It has a nice ring to it. I always wanted a son.”
Darcy ignored that topic. “In the end, Jirina didn’t need either of you.”
“Well, that’s debatable but a mute point now. Your father’s untimely death forced her to take her fate in her own hands. She may not have needed us, but she managed a world of trouble that made her need a whole lot more than I could deliver. However, you, the dutiful brother, provided—a little late, but you’ve been making up for lost time.”
“She’s been moved from Barbados now. You’ll never find her.
You can’t use her to get to me. Not now.”
“But Elizabeth? She’s a different matter. What will the CIA’s little darling do once she finds out what you really are?”
“And what am I exactly? I’m the latest victim of ‘sins of the father being visited on the son.’ As for Elizabeth…”
“Yes?”
“You underestimate her. Plain and simple.”
“Ah, how sweet. Love hopes all things, endures all things, does it not?”
“You know, the world is evolving. Far-reaching changes that will leave you and your kind with nothing. I don’t know when that will happen, but I’ve been behind the Iron Curtain, and I’ve heard the rumblings of the people. Communism is a façade that will crumble, maybe in just a few short years. When that happens, you’ll all be extinct, like dinosaurs.” Darcy stood up. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m done here, and I’m done with you.”
“You’ve come too far to go back now, William. Go on home to your young, beautiful wife and tell her…well, never mind. I’ll tell her myself. It will be a shock no doubt, but then a girl likes to be crossed in love now and again. Who knows, Darcy? I might try for her next.”
“She rose from your ashes, Tom. She’s four times the intelligence officer and ten times the human being you’ll ever be.”
“I hope she’s the forgiving sort, for your sake, but don’t count on it. She is my daughter after all. I’m so proud of her.”
***
June 1984 The National Mall, Washington, DC
Nestled in a grove of trees, Darcy sat on a bench within view of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, holding his wife’s hand in silence. They watched the tourists amble by the wall in a subdued, reverent procession belied by the bright vacation T-shirts, sun visors, and cameras around their necks. A few stopped to lay a sheet of paper against a name and rub over it with a piece of charcoal or chalk, imprinting the name as a memento of a friend or loved one who now belonged to the ages.
Elizabeth looked up at him and smiled her reassurance while they waited for their friend. “You know, I think this memorial is my favorite.”
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